


Lathron.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Community: contrelamontre, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-24
Updated: 2003-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:55:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn watches Boromir and despairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lathron.

**Author's Note:**

> My first contrelamontre! For the forty-five minutes "Even watching him felt like being a voyeur." first sentence challenge.
> 
> According to the Sindarin Dictionary Project, the word "Lathron" means a hearer or a listener.

Even watching him feels like being a voyeur.

Strong thigh muscles, toned arms. All the signs of a proper warrior. Battle scars shown off like a lover's bauble. This is a man who knows he is dangerous. This is a man who knows his strengths. This is a man who is pure sin.

Even now, grasping an elven oar in leather-stained hands, pushing against the water like it was a battle ax, his beauty is apparent. Hair glimmering against the water's light, private smile for the young hobbits. Lucky little ones, to be so close to the famed warrior. The beautiful warrior. Every scar a perfection, every wound a thing of wonder. Only adding, never detracting. Only adding.

And I wonder at my chances. To take those roughened hands in mine and show them the way of passion. Kiss the sun-browned neck, separate those shining lips, and steal a searing kiss, like a shard of an ancient sword. Take those tantalizing arms, teases that they are, and lick over the bumps, testing their strengths and weaknesses. To make love to the crease of an arm with my teeth and my fingernails and my cock weeping silently. To peel away dress uniform and travel cloak and see the man for who he is, not what he shows. To kiss above the heart and smile at the beat, the grand tattoo setting the pace of this man, his stride, and his hope. His Estel.

And how I want to be his Estel. Hear him call out my name as I worship his body, the Vala he has hidden from us for so long under Gondor's uniform and weapons of the elite guards. My guards, if I ever return to the City of my fathers. Mine. My Boromir. His Estel.

Even watching him feels like being a voyeur, as he makes love to the Celebrant with strong, even strokes that part her waters like a lover, taking their due and receiving naught but praise in return. As he smiles at a small splash and frees a hand to slap a hobbit in gaiety. A lovely day it is, would be only to more lovely were his smile to be directed towards me.

He did, once. A day must like this one, yet it was not water he loved then but a sword in his hand and worthy adversaries. Two hobbits, the ones he ferries now, and a lesson long in coming. A voyeur then, with my pipe between my lips and wishing it was his cock. Wanting to join in on top of him, glad when the hobbits gave me the chance. Wanting to wrestle him to the ground and take him there, crebain be damned. Mine. Only mine. And he does not know it.

As companions, we have bathed together. As companions, we have slept so close that I thought I was inside him, and he me. As companions. But never as lovers. I have stripped him lovingly and tended his wounds. I have watched him stand afterwards, thank me, and then go about his exercises. I freely admit to watching him, sweating in only his breeches and jerkin as he worked to keep the pace as dictated by Sergeants everywhere. And even watching him felt like being a voyeur.

When we are finished for the day, perhaps, I may seek him out to speak to him of it. I may take him aside and tell him of my vigil, my wait, my desire. Secluded in a dark clearing, alone with his river lover, maybe then we can come to an understanding. Maybe then...

But I know I won't. Condemned to always watch, never touch. Condemned to be the eternal watchman, guarding an unknowing treasure. Condemned to desire. Love unrequited. It is not an unknown feeling, yet I curse it all the more, for I am naught but a coward for not confronting him.

A thousand Orcs could not kill me. I did not blink in the face of a creature of the Deep, the Balrog of Morgoth. But the mere thought of being thrown away like an undesired companion, like an unworthy opponent, a spurned lover, arrests me. I have not the strength. I have not the power. I have not the audacity to tempt the son of my former rival. I have not the strength.

And so I am condemned to watch.


End file.
